


Heart and Soul

by shiftylinguini



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Anal Fingering, Biting, Canon Compliant, Comeplay, Dirty Talk, First War with Voldemort, Friends With Benefits, Kink Negotiation, M/M, Masturbation, Possessive Behavior, Reference to Watersports, Rough Sex, Scent Marking, Scenting, sex potion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-18
Updated: 2017-11-18
Packaged: 2019-01-19 07:28:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,503
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12405834
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shiftylinguini/pseuds/shiftylinguini
Summary: R/S Games 2017 - Day 19 - Team SiriusThe dumbest thing Remus ever did was ask Sirius what he wanted to do for his 21st birthday.The smartest thing he ever did was agree to do it.





	Heart and Soul

**Author's Note:**

> **Team:** Sirius  
>  Huge thanks to R for not only looking this over, but being totally, indispensably encouraging and supportive <3\. And of course, thanks to the mods for running this amazing fest!  
>  **Prompt:** #20 - "There was once a young man who wished to gain his Heart's Desire." - opening line of the novel _Stardust_ by Neil Gaiman

“It’s called _Desire_ ,” Sirius says, and places the potion in front of them. It sits on Remus’s coffee table, glittering and slick in its phial, and Remus makes a face. 

“It’s called tacky, Padfoot.” He pulls his feet up onto the sofa, bare skin soft against the worn cover. “Seriously, you bought a sex potion,” he says rather than asks, returning to his book. He can feel Sirius’s eyes on him, and Remus tucks some hair behind his ear, tries not to flush. 

“You asked what I wanted to do for my birthday tomorrow,” Sirius replies, and it’s a little bit earnest, a little bit cocky ― entirely Sirius. He’s wearing that jacket again, his newest acquisition, all smooth Muggle leather and glinting zips. It matches the boots, the hair, the motorbike. Everything about it screams _Sirius_ , headstrong and garishly charming, and everything about Remus responds to it. 

He really wishes Sirius wasn’t as bloody aware of that as he is.

They’ve only been doing this ― whatever _this_ is, really, because Remus doesn’t bloody know what to call it ― for a few months. Fuck buddies? Friends with benefits? None of those names seem right, seem to feel right in his mouth when he tries them out. _Lovers_ , on the other hand, creeps around his throat and threatens to choke him. Once or twice he’s considered letting it, but then again, maybe lovers isn't right either. 

It's certainly a pretty name for stolen moments after Order meetings, in between missions and moons. When they’re too tired to sleep and too wired to do anything else, that's when they fall together, again and again. Remus asked once, when he was a little drunk, a little mean, what kind of name Sirius would put on this. 

“Casual, Moony, that’s what it is,” Sirius breathed in between furtive kisses, something desperate in his voice, in the press of his fingers, “There’s a war on, and we’re gonna win, I know it, but in the meantime, we can do this. I need ― we can do this, can’t we?” and Remus nodded, watched Sirius drop to his knees, and lost himself in the slide of lips and tongue. 

_Casual_ , Remus repeated in his head as Sirius undid his fly. Like two men bedding each other in the trenches, looking for a bit of warmth before a bomb fell on them, perhaps. He could be satisfied with that, he thought, before his mind wiped itself clean, his hands tight in the silken tangle of Sirius’s hair. 

Remus is good at lying to himself that way. 

Now, Remus clears his throat, looks back at the opalescent potion on the table, then back at Sirius. 

“I did ask, true,” Remus concedes, his voice only a little husky. “But I thought perhaps you would want booze, or maybe a decent haircut.” Sirius’s lip curls a little at the joke, and Remus is pleased, but not really sincere; he’d rather lose a limb than lose Sirius’s hair, but he’s not going to admit that. “I didn't think you’d want to take some kind of illicit substance.”

“Well, that’s your fault for underestimating me, Moony.” Sirius smiles as he rests his elbows on his knees, then lifts one shoulder in an elegant shrug. “And I mean I _do_ want booze, too.” Sirius’s grin is even wider now. “I want to go to a club, in Mile End, and after that I want to take this. With you,” he adds pointedly. “So I bought this.”

Remus stares at him. “Pads, what? No,” he laughs, incredulous. “That is not.” He clears his throat, hoping he’s only imagining the hurt that streaks across Sirius's face. It comes and then goes so fast, he can't really be sure, and either way he’s not used to Sirius hiding his emotions around him. “You know I don't take that kind of thing.” 

“You did with Solomon,” Sirius shoots back, eyes glinting. Remus slowly raises both brows. 

“No,” he says in a measured tone, drawing out the word. “Acid, Sirius. I took _acid_ with Solomon.” Remus closes his book, levels an even gaze at Sirius. “And I didn’t fuck him while I was on it,” he says, as if that settles the conversation. Whatever he did with Solomon Stevens isn't relevant here, considering it was a year ago, but there’s something in Sirius’s eyes, on his face, that says otherwise. 

“No.” Sirius sits back, as much a physical as an emotional withdrawal from the conversation. He licks his lips. “You just let him blow you in the loo.” He looks up at Remus, mouth an almost unkind smile. “And then fucked him two nights later at Mariella’s.”

Remus blinks, once at the fact that Sirius knows about that and then again at the almost accusing tone. Sirius wasn't at that party, if that’s what it could even be called. It was hardly even an event, and what Remus did there ― as out of character as he likes to think anything he did with Solomon that summer was ― is the last thing he expects Sirius to bring up. Or, to care about. 

“Your mate Sol is a chatty drunk,” Sirius goes on to explain, at Remus’s confused silence. “Expect half of London knows about it by now.” 

Remus runs his finger down the spine of his book, stalling for time. He refuses to feel bad for what he did then, and he cannot fathom how the fuck it is even _remotely_ relevant to this conversation. 

“Why…” he shakes his head. “Why are you bringing this up?” he says after a moment, and Sirius clenches his jaw. 

“Oh, no reason,” he says tightly. He shrugs, but it is anything but casual. “Except you said you don't do that, so I was wondering…” Sirius spreads his hands, another easy gesture made tense. “Why you would say that, given you clearly do.”

 _Oh, shit_. 

Remus licks his lips, stalling. He’d forgotten about that ― well, more accurately, he’d assumed Sirius had forgotten it. It had only come up that once, one of the rare times they had made it to a bed, removed more than the most necessary items of clothing. Remus had thought his quiet, “No, I don't do that,” when Sirius had gripped his thigh then mumbled, “Fuck me?” in his ear had been the end of it. He’d pushed Sirius onto his back, kissed his way down his stomach before he could really see the confused flash of emotion on Sirius’s face. Sirius never did well with rejection, perceived or real, and this? Well, Remus had hoped he’d done enough to distract Sirius from the way he’d declined his request. 

Of course, it was a lie. Remus had hardly fucked that many people, but he’d done it. He’d _liked_ it, and a lot at that. But with Sirius? Remus can’t quite explain why he said no, except that like all things when it comes to Sirius, Remus doesn’t trust himself. He likes to keep a tight grip on himself, on his life and his emotions, his desires, but something about Sirius makes that want to crack. The scent of his neck, the feel of his hair in Remus’s fist ― Remus knows he’s already playing with fire, getting into pens with dangerous animals, and he’s desperate to hold some of that in still. 

Remus tightens his fingers on the book in his lap, a perfect reminder of the lie his life is. The bookish young man, calm and composed, a little frayed around the edges. It's a lie, or at least, it's not the whole truth. There’s an animal wearing his clothes, as they used to joke back at school, only Remus knows it's true. He can feel it, before the moon and when the skies are clear, can feel that tenuous control slipping and something a little darker, buried a little deeper, as it whispers things to him ― things he _wants_ , that the wolf wants. They curve around the shell of his ear and pool inside him, hot and thrilling. Sometimes he can't tell one from the other, what him and what comes from the moon, and those times, those fractures in his control, are exhilarating, terrifying, in equal measure. 

More than anything, he can _always_ feel that control slipping around Sirius. It makes him tighten the leash he has on himself even more. He’s terrified of what would come out of him, if he ever truly let it go. 

He’s certain it would horrify Sirius, if he knew some of the things Remus really wants to do to him. 

Remus clears his throat, cursing the telling flush on his cheeks. “Sirius,” he clears his throat again, “I still don’t understand why you’re bringing this up.” It’s sterner than he’d intended. 

“Because you lied to me.”

“I didn’t ―” 

“Yeah, you did mate. Or,” Sirius holds his hands out, palms up, “you just don’t want to fuck _me_ ,” Sirius raises one eyebrow, his jaw clenched, and Remus can’t answer that. He can’t even begin to shape his mouth around an answer to that. “Which, hey, each to his own.” Sirius sniffs, and it’s as clear as day that he’s upset with that. Remus is almost relieved, in a way; he prefers it when he can read Sirius easily, even when what he’s seeing makes his chest ache. “But either way, you hold things back with me. A _lot_ ,” Sirius finishes. He fixes Remus with a piercing stare. “And so do I.”

Remus takes a moment before he can reply. He thinks, in all their time sleeping together, they’ve never had a conversation like this, never been this open, if open is what he can call this. It certainly seems like Sirius is leaning towards that, with his surprising admission that there’s things he wants from Remus that he’s holding back on asking for. 

“Like what?” Remus blurts. He’s hit by the realisation of how much he doesn’t like the idea of Sirius holding things back from him; he’d assumed that might be the case, but _knowing_ it lights a curious fire inside him.

The change in Sirius’s expression is stark; his eyes soften, as he rubs a hand over his mouth, all trace of the accusatory sneer dwindling away. 

“Just…” His eyes flick to the phial on the table. He worries his lower lip, hesitant, and Remus stares at those striking grey eyes, at the hint of colour blooming on the peaks of Sirius’s cheeks, over his high cheekbones. “Doesn’t matter,” Sirius eventually says, apparently unable, or unwilling, to answer Remus’s question. 

“Yes it does,” Remus says, surprised by how vehemently he wants to know what Sirius is referring to. But Sirius just shakes his head. 

“You know what.” Sirius stands, quickly. “This was a stupid idea,” he mumbles. 

“Sirius, no, what ―” Remus starts to stand, but Sirius waves him off. He quickly picks the potion up off the table, and unceremoniously tosses it into the wastebasket by Remus’s sofa. It lands almost entirely silently, amongst some old parchment, a crisp packet, an apple core. 

“No, you’re right,” Sirius plasters a smile on his face, and it’s almost convincing. Almost. “It’s ridiculous. Let’s just…” He waves his hand again. “Have a drink. Have several.” His smile is crooked, charming, his hair soft looking as it brushes his cheeks. “First round is on you.”

“I ―” Remus looks at Sirius, at the discarded potion, then back again. “Okay,” he agrees quietly, knowing that something has just happened here, and something he isn’t quite sure he likes. Sirius is not a shy person, not coy. If he wanted something from Remus, he would ask, unless he couldn't ― unless he was afraid Remus would say no again, a little voice whispers. Remus doesn’t like that. 

“Right, well, I’m off.” Sirius heads towards the dark wood door. “See you tomorrow for the birthday of the century?” he asks, with another smile over his shoulder, and Remus nods, still reeling slightly from the flip and turn of this entire interaction. 

“Yeah.” Remus holds his gaze, “I’ll be there.” He stares at the door for a long moment after Sirius has walked out of it. 

It’s even longer when, quietly unfolding his legs from the chair and padding barefoot across the room, he retrieves the discarded phial from the bin.

~*~

Remus researches it himself the next day.

He slept badly, after Sirius left, in fits and starts. His mind kept returning to what Sirius had said. That Remus holds back, and that Sirius does too. Remus doesn’t know how to process that, what Sirius wants here exactly, and he wakes around 5 am, just before dawn approaches and properly forces her bright fingers across his eyelids. He’s hard, aching, having dreamt about Sirius, about long black hair and startling grey eyes, smooth skin and firm muscles. He blinks, half awake, and muzzles into the pillow, pressing his cock against the smooth bed sheets. He thinks about what it would be like to fuck Sirius, to palm his hands over Sirius’s thighs, his arse, to run his teeth over his neck as he inches his cock inside him. Remus ruts down against the soft sheets, and it only takes three slow, indulgent grinds before his orgasm hits him in a hot and sudden rush, his warm breath dampening the pillow as he gasps into it. He falls back asleep for another hour.

The sun is up when he finally emerges from his bed, forcing himself into the shower, and then into his clothes. He thinks about owling Sirius, but he knows he shouldn’t. The letter would have to have no message, no address, the risk of interception too great, of someone finding out their whereabouts, so he settles for thinking about him over breakfast, of knowing he’ll see him tonight. His eyes flick to the phial of shining liquid, now sitting on his kitchen table, and he abandons his toast and black tea. 

It doesn’t take him too long to find the potion, in one of the more difficult-to-procure books he owns. _Soul’s Desire_ , is the full name given here, in the somewhat fraying pages. Remus leans against the bookshelf, the hard wooden edge digging into his shoulder as he reads the short description. It doesn’t seem to be a complex potion, in most ways, but in other way it is. It’s old, Remus sees, originating in France in the seventeenth century and is apparently difficult to brew. It is also fabulously illegal, being something of a combination between a sex compulsion potion and sharing several of the base properties of Veritaserum. Remus furrows his brow in surprise as he reads. 

_Soul’s Desire is unable to simulate or manufacture sexual urges; it can only bring to the surface what is already present in the imbiber. It will also cause heightened sexual arousal and awareness of sexual partner’s arousal, if consumed in company. Sexual urges will become evident, as will the drinker’s increased compulsion to confess them, with or without their willingness to do so._

_However, given the nature of all potions which induce this level of ― potentially involuntary ― candour about sexual desires and appetites, and the likelihood the drinker will act on them if prompted, it has been deemed a Class A potion and is thus prohibited from production and recreational sale and use, by punishment of ―_

Remus closes the book with a snap, then slips it back into its alphabetical place in the shelf. He chews on his lower lip, his face hot and surprised, as he undoes the top button of his shirt. 

Sirius never mentioned any of this. Although in hindsight, Remus can connect enough dots there to see why he chose this, based on his scant admissions the previous evening. If he’s frustrated by Remus holding back, then this would effectively nullify that; Remus would be compelled to say what he wants, and to take it if offered, according to this anyway. He wonders if Sirius knew this much about the potion, the extent of what it does, or if he simply bought whatever he could get off some back alley bastard. Remus can picture either scenario as equally as likely. He runs his finger over his lips as he thinks. 

If he had to choose between whether Sirius deliberately didn’t mention what the potion actually does, or if he didn't _know_ what he does, Remus knows which one he’d put his money on. Sirius is smart, for one, and brilliantly so, and even though Remus is not a betting man, he knows Sirius is incredibly skilled at crafting half-lies by omitting certain parts of the truth, when it suits him, when he needs to ― when there’s something he doesn't want to come out and say. It’s something they have in common, Remus knows, and his mind wanders again to Sirius’s half mumbled admission that there’s things he himself holds back, too. If his plan was for them to take this together ― _both_ of them ― then Sirius would be as compelled as Remus to expose himself, to talk about what he wants, and then...Remus swallows, rubs a hand over the back of his neck, up into his hair. He adjusts his half-hard cock in his trousers, trying to push the surge of arousal down. 

He sighs, then marches back into the kitchen before impulsively pushing the phial behind a slightly stale loaf of bread. Out of sight, out of mind, he tells himself as he strides back to the living room and buries himself into some work. 

Remus tries not to think about it again for the rest of the day, as he goes through some intelligence information from Albus, some Order correspondence and compiles the last meeting’s minutes, but his mind keep wandering back to the phial. He thinks about what might happen tonight, if they took it together. He wonders how it would taste, feel, as it slipped over his tongue, and down his throat. More than anything, he thinks about what he might say, what Sirius might say. The possibilities race through his mind, as the temptation, the curiosity, builds. He finds himself desperate to know why Sirius chose this potion.

It sounds reckless, to drink it. It sounds like an accident, a disaster, waiting to happen, like waving his fingers over a lit candle and lowering them with each passing swipe. It sounds like something Sirius would have deliberately picked, to bring them both a little closer to the flames, and that thought cements in Remus’s mind that it sounds fucking brilliant. His head is still swimming with doubts as he eats a quick dinner, but his curiosity, his own fierce reckless streak, is stirring the excitement inside him. 

He gets ready to meet Sirius at the pub he’s chosen around nine, the butterflies stirring in his stomach now having bloomed into a full storm. Before he leaves, he checks to make sure he has his keys, the small gift he bought Sirius, and his wand, safely secreted in his pocket. Lastly, pretending to himself that it’s an afterthought, he slips the phial into his jacket pocket, too. He feels it chink against the metal of his house keys, cold against the brush of his fingers. 

He Apparates with a crack.

~*~

The bar is called Eagle.

“The Eagle?” Remus asks, and Sirius corrects him as he points towards the door, through the small throng of people. 

“No, just Eagle.” Sirius flicks his hair away from his face, surveying the people around them, and Remus does too. It’s better than staring at Sirius, he thinks, feeling his face heat. Sirius is wearing Muggle jeans tonight, revoltingly tight ones, and a plain white shirt. The leather jacket accompanies him, as always, his hair just long enough to brush his shoulders. He fits in here, amongst these fashionable young clubbers. He looks like something off a poster, stepping off the cover of one of the Muggle records Sirius adores so much, and Remus finds it hard to keep his eyes off of him. He’s not sure if it’s the buzz of what they might do later, or if it’s the way the light from the streetlamps makes Sirius’s eyes shine, his lips quirked in a smile as he and Remus step through the doors and into the bar. It’s probably both, Remus suspects, as the wall of music hits them; with being blindsided by how attractive Sirius is is nothing new for him. 

They find a booth easily, the night still young. “That’s why we avoided having to deal with a big queue,” Sirius says, winking conspiratorially, and Remus smiles tightly, feeling a lurch of jealousy when he realises Sirius has evidently come here before, and without him. 

“James and Lily not coming?” he asks, pushing the jealousy aside as he looks around. “Or Peter?”

“Nah,” Sirius grins, “we’re giving them the slip tonight. This isn’t their scene anyway.”

Remus frowns at that, then looks around again, taking in the bar’s clientele. He’s struck by how out of place he himself feels in this crowd, but it’s not an entirely new feeling. Sirius, in his leather and denim, fits in perfectly, while standing out at the same time, and again, that’s no surprise. Sirius is handsome, both conventionally and unconventionally so, and more than that, he bleeds charisma like crushed petals bleed perfume. People are always drawn to him, male and female, and as Remus looks at a group of men standing across the dark room he finally puts his finger on what feels different about this bar. The men are looking, appreciatively, at Sirius ― at him. They’re looking, and they’re not bothering to hide it. 

“This is a gay bar,” Remus states, his mouth a little dry. 

“Yeah, where did you think I wanted go?” Sirius laughs, possibly a little too lightly, then pushes his hair away from his face. 

“I,” Remus opens his mouth, the closes it again, dumbstruck by the fact he didn’t anticipate this. Of course Sirius would want to go to a gay bar, to be out for his birthday, in more ways than one. “I just didn’t expect this,” Remus says, uselessly, and Sirius laughs again, patting him on the shoulder. 

“Tell me, Moony. How is it,” he asks, lips curving sweetly, “that you have fucked more guys than I have, and yet you’re uncomfortable with the idea of being out in a club with blokes who do the same?”

“I haven’t fucked more men than you,” Remus mutters, rather than actually address the truth of that statement. Sirius has a point ― Remus sleeps with men, something his friends know, but he still has one foot firmly stuck in the closet ― and Remus always hates it when that happens. 

Sirius just shrugs rather than refute Remus’s claim, and Remus frowns, not liking the way that response makes him feel. He doesn't know how many people Sirius has actually had sex with, and he suddenly doesn’t want to; the idea of it makes his jaw clench, his teeth ache a little, and his stomach twist. He scratches his fingers over his jaw, avoiding Sirius’s searching gaze. 

“I’m getting a drink,” he says tersely, standing and making a beeline for the bar. 

He orders himself a whisky, neat, and decides to get something for Sirius too, as a peace offering; it’s Sirius’s bloody birthday, he reminds himself, and Remus needs to stop being a moody prick. 

“Something strong, and expensive,” he tells the bartender, when the man asks with a smile what else Remus wants. He suggests three cocktails and Remus chews the inside of his cheek as he debates, then impulsively decides to order all three of them. He doesn’t know the difference between the alcohol anyway, has never heard the names before, and he thinks it might make Sirius smile. It certainly makes the bartender smile, as he takes Remus’s money and says he’ll bring the drinks over. 

“Where are you sitting, handsome?” The tilt of the bartender’s lips is almost a leer, and Remus is momentarily unsure how to react, until he smiles back himself and points at Sirius, sitting on his own with one boot on the opposite chair, his arms folded and a scowl on his face as he watches them. Remus retreats as soon as the bartender gives him his change, the man’s fingers lingering far too long on his own. He hurries back through the gathering crowd towards Sirius’s surly expression. 

“Done flirting?” Sirius snaps slightly when Remus returns, and Remus takes note of it, but doesn’t react. He’s used to Sirius being moody, but he’s not used to seeing open jealousy. He thinks in the context of the previous evening, though, and of their current status as tenuously sleeping together that it makes sense. Sirius is not as good as Remus at hiding how he feels. 

“Not my type,” Remus says quickly, smiling broadly at Sirius, but Sirius doesn’t look that appeased. 

“What is your type?” he asks curtly, and Remus almost says, ‘ _you_ ’, before he catches the admission in his throat, drags it back down. 

“Not him,” he allows himself to say, pulling the small box out of his pocket, and tossing it onto the table. It lands with a soft clunk, and Sirius’s scowl eases somewhat. So does the tightness in Remus’s chest. 

“You got me something?” Sirius asks, and the surprise on his face makes Remus’s chest ache in a different way. 

“‘Course I did, Pads.” He pushes the small box closer with his fingertips. “It’s nothing very grand, though,” he feels compelled to add, his face heating as Sirius carefully opens the package. It always surprises Remus, how Sirius could have grown up with such wealth, and privilege, and still be so awed by the smallest of gifts, so surprised that someone would think to get him one. He wonders, not for the first time, what things were really like in the Black household when Sirius was younger, but he forgets it when Sirius finally pries the lid of the box open. 

“Is this…” Sirius runs his fingers over the soft, dark leather of the forearm wand holster, as Remus holds his breath. “Moony, this is _brilliant_ ,” he says, his voice slightly choked. He meets Remus’s eyes, and the sincerity in them, the almost child-like joy, knocks a startled breath out of him. He smiles, and hopes it isn’t as wobbly as he feels. 

“It’s not as nice as the one you wanted,” he mumbles, but Sirius cuts him off, running his fingers covetously over the leather once more. 

“No, it’s better than that one,” he says fiercely, slipping the gift into his pocket lest anyone else see it. Remus knows it isn’t better, but his heart thumps at the genuine tone of Sirius’s voice, at the almost reverent smile on Sirius’s face as he looks at him. 

“Thank you,” he says, and it’s quiet compared to the throb of the bar’s music, but Remus hears it all the same. His heart thumps a little harder, and Remus looks away then back again, his mouth twisting into what must be a stupid expression as he tries to contain the intensity of his smile. He can never get enough of making Sirius look like this, of seeing simple happiness light up his features. 

“I’m glad you like it,” Remus mumbles happily, rubbing the pad of his thumb over the line of his jaw. He’s about to say more when their drinks arrive, disrupting them. Remus is glad to see it’s a different bartender than before, as he pushes all three cocktails towards Sirius’s side of the table, sees his surprised and delighted face light up even further. 

“You’re mental, Moony!” he says, huffing a laugh. “You bought me…” He shakes his head, and Remus can feel himself blushing. 

“Yes, well, don’t be too happy.” Remus shifts in his seat, crossing his ankles and leaning forwards on his elbows at the same time. “I blew all my money on that lot, so the rest of the night is on you,” he jokes, and Sirius just laughs, taking a long swig of a violently red cocktail and ignoring the straw dangling out of it. 

His eyes crinkle as he smiles, lips tilting over the lip of the glass, and Remus returns it, sipping on his whisky and enjoying the earthy burn. 

Sirius does get the next round, although it takes them both the better part of an hour to finish the garish drinks Remus bought. They’re incredibly strong, overly sweet, and Remus feels pleasantly buzzed by the time Sirius comes back, this time with two intensely dark blue drinks in short tumblers.

“I have no idea what this is, but your boyfriend at the bar recommended it,” Sirius says snarkily, setting one in front of Remus and slipping into his own seat opposite him. Remus startles slightly at Sirius’s words, then relaxes when he see his half smile, the playful slant of his lips. Remus sniffs, looking at Sirius from under his fringe, then takes a sip. He makes a face. 

“He has awful taste,” he says, coughing into his fist, but he takes another mouthful anyway. He’s enjoying the thrum of alcohol in his veins, the way it both dulls and heightens his excitement about what might happen later; he can still feel the shape of the phial in his pocket, imagines it pushing against him. 

“Nah,” Sirius licks his lips after taking a drink himself. “I’d say he’s got pretty good taste.” He looks at Remus intently, and Remus knows Sirius isn’t talking about the drink. They’re quiet for a moment, Sirius watching the people dance in the middle of the room while the music of the bar beats loudly around them, and Remus sipping at his midnight-coloured mess of a drink. He thinks this is as good an opening as any he’s likely to get. 

“Why did you pick that potion?”

Sirius looks back at him quickly. His hair whips slightly, brushing the tips of his shoulders as he does so. “Huh?” 

“That potion. Soul’s Desire.” Remus pulls the piece of lime out of his drink, watches an ice cube bob up to take its place at the surface. “I read about what it does,” he says, still not looking up. Not just yet. “Why did you pick that one?”

Sirius is quiet for just long enough that it causes Remus to abandon his staring match with the bobbing ice cubes, and meet his eyes. He’s surprised by how intensely Sirius is regarding him, his own hands cupped around his mostly forgotten drink. 

“It's a sex potion, Moony,” he says softly, but his eyes are sharp. “I wanted to fuck on it.” 

“Yes, but. Why that particular one?” he repeats, refusing to let it drop. Sirius tilts his head from one side to the other. His cheeks are flushed with blood, from the alcohol, or the excitement of the conversation. Remus doesn’t care; the sight of it is thrilling. 

“Because you're… inhibited with me,” is what Sirius eventually decides on, and Remus hums, takes a long, deep pull of his drink. They’re closer to the real matter at hand, he thinks. 

“So you mentioned.” He swirls the ice in the base of his glass. “From the sounds of it, though, this would make me more than just slightly uninhibited.” He looks up at Sirius. “Would affect _both_ of us that way.”

Sirius is still, before he nods slowly, his fingers curving distractedly against the condensation on his glass. “That’s what I’m told it would do, yes,” he says, and Remus sits back in his seat. The warmth that’s been building in his belly comes to full bloom as his suspicions that Sirius knew exactly what the potion does are confirmed. He leans forward, spreading his legs a little and feeling his cock stir, thickening against the press of his jeans. 

“And you think you want that from me,” he states, his own drink forgotten as he watches Sirius’s mouth part a little. 

“I know I want that, Remus.”

Remus presses his lips together tightly, the arousal warring with the trepidation once more. “What if you don’t, though?” he says, hoarsely. “What if you’re not even sure what I... what it might bring out in me?” he swallows, “or what it might bring out in you?” 

He looks at his knuckles, feeling a little ridiculous, but determined to say this out loud all the same. Remus’s eyes flit back to Sirius again when he replies. 

“I think I know what it will bring out in me,” Sirius says, and his voice is low, but sure. It’s there again, that tell that there is something, _something_ , that Sirius wants from this, and that he knows he wants, too. Remus feels on fire with curiosity. 

“What is it?” he asks, but Sirius shakes his head, the corners of his lips slanting into the faintest of smiles. 

“That’s what the potion was for, Moony,” he says, and it’s almost a little wistful. Remus frowns, imagines he can feel the press of the phial against his leg, through the thin material of his denim jacket pocket. Sirius exhales heavily, tucks his hair behind one ear, long fingers briefly covered by the thick, dark strands. “There’s some things.” Sirius won't quite meet his gaze, his own eyes bright. “There's some things I can't ask for. Things… that I've never asked for.” He laughs, a slightly cracked sound. “I’m not even sure what exactly it is, what I want, but I know.” He stops, then finally meets Remus’s eyes. “I know I want to ask _you_ for it.” He looks away again, quickly, and Remus sees it; shame, perhaps, uncertainty. It’s there in the slashes of colour on his cheeks, the tight line of his shoulders. Whatever it is, it's brought out that most rare of emotions in Sirius ― insecurity. “I wanted to ask you for it, and for you to stop holding back around me,” he whispers, and it's fierce, determined. It matches the intensity of his eyes, and Remus can barely breathe around the strangling jolt of arousal that lurches inside him. 

If Remus wasn’t sure he was going to agree to this, seeing that look on Sirius’s face settles it for him. The alcohol is making him feel bold, and Sirius’s words are lighting fires along his nerves, up and down his spine and between his legs. The idea of Sirius wanting something he can’t ask for, wanting it specifically from Remus, is making his heart race, his face hot. Sirius’s eyes are wide, searching, the irises thin circles of icy grey around the dilated pupils. Remus tucks one hand into his jacket pocket, feels the smooth, cold glass of the phial in there as his fingers bump against it. 

“We can't take it here,” he mumbles, leaning closer on the one elbow he still has on the table. Sirius leans forwards too, almost without realising it. His hair falls forwards across one cheek. Remus wants to touch it, to tangle his fingers in it, so he presses them against the plastic top of the table instead. 

Belatedly, Sirius frowns. “No, well. We wouldn't have. But it doesn't matter, I mean.” His frown deepens. “I threw it away, remember?”

Remus chews on his lip, fingers skimming over cool glass. He sees Sirius’s eyes widen further when he produces the shimmering phial, then quickly presses it into Sirius's hand. It's dangerous, he thinks, to do this in full view of the other patrons, should they happen to look over at them. They won't know what the potion is, but they might get from the furtive nature of Remus’s fingers brushing over Sirius's as he curves them over his hand, that it's something illicit. Sirius certainly looks gobsmacked that Remus brought it. 

“We can’t take it here,” Remus repeats, emphatically, the thrum of his heartbeat fighting against the pulse of the beat from the Muggle speakers. 

“But we will take it?” Sirius mutters. His eyes are still wide, fingers brushing over Remus’s, over the small glass bottle they’re both holding, and they darken further when Remus nods. 

“My place,” Sirius says, staring at Remus like the rest of the bar is forgotten, inconsequential. “We take it at my place.” 

Remus nods again.

~*~

He barely remembers leaving for Sirius’s flat.

Flat, really, is too generous a word. It's upstairs, in a decent enough borough, and Sirius likes to call it a “loft”. Really, though, it's one room, spacious enough, but almost factory bare. The floor is concrete, covered in one or two second-hand rugs which Remus knows Sirius bought with James and Lily. The furniture is sparse ― an expensive-looking wooden table, five matching chairs around it, a cushioned armchair by the room’s one window. Everything about the furniture screams wealth, while the rest of the room seems barren, the contradiction as perfectly Sirius as anything else in his life. The kitchen is small, a sink and a stove, and the bathroom the only other separate room. The bed takes up the largest amount of space, two thick mattresses stacked on top of each other. The covers are black, a furred rug over it. Remus loves the feel of it, the way it gives under his fingers. It's fake, faux fur, but it's just well made enough that Remus can imagine its a real pelt under his hands. 

For all that he’s been in this loft, though, Remus thinks as they Apparate into the room with a crack, he’s never slept in Sirius’s bed. 

Remus isn't drunk. He can feel the buzz of alcohol in his face, warm in his stomach, but there’s enough sobriety nestling next to it. He’s almost dizzy, though, with anticipation, as Sirius stumbles a little from the disorientation of skipping from one location to another. Remus slips his arms around his waist to steady him, breathing in sharply when Sirius rests his cheek against his, his lips downturned and almost brushing at his jaw. His hand presses against Remus's chest, knuckles against Remus’s left pectoral muscle. 

Remus can feel his fingers clenched around the phial. 

“How much do we take?” Remus questions breathily as Sirius rubs his cheek against his. 

“Three drops,” Sirius kisses his jaw, then again, open mouthed. “Three drops for the desired effect,” he mumbles, pulling back to look at Remus. His eyes are bright, his lips soft and full. Remus can’t stop staring at them. “Lasts for six hours, more or less.” He runs his tongue over his lips, and Remus’s eyes track the movement. 

“Okay,” he says, hoarsely, and Sirius hums, pleased and a little giddy. Sirius’s knees bump against his as he steers them towards the bed. His hands are cold, fingers long as he slips his free hand under Remus’s shirt, untucking it from the waistband of his jeans. 

“I know I said,” Sirius rests forehead against his, both of them stopping as Remus’s calves hit the mattress. “I know I said I know what it will bring out in me, and I think I do, but.” He rests his hands on Remus’s shoulders, gently pushes him to sit down on the bed. Remus rests his hands on Sirius’s thighs, feels them shudder under his palms. “Just don’t freak out too much, yeah?” He says. There’s a joke in there, or at least there would be, but his voice is too shaky for it to land. His knuckles are white as he grips the phial in front of them. Remus wants to calm his anxieties, to assure him it won’t be too much, but without knowing what Sirius wants in the deepest, dirtiest parts of his soul, it would ring hollow. 

“I won't if you won’t,” he says, reasoning that a half joke deserves one in return. He’s only too aware that the same goes for him, that while he could guess what his id might want, he’s not sure it won’t send Sirius scampering. With that in mind, he runs his hands up to Sirius’s belt, lets it clank as he undoes it. The smooth muscles of Sirius’s stomach twitch away from his fingers as he skates them over it. He kisses it, once, just below Sirius’s belly button, looking up at him through his hair and Sirius breathes out shakily. 

He nods, and pulls the stopper from the phial. 

Remus isn't sure why he didn’t expect it to have a scent. The potion is pearly white, viscous looking with an opalescent sheen to it, and he imagined it would smell that way too ― like clean, like white, like nothing. Instead, it smells sweet, cloying, sugary in a way that reminds him of overripe fruit. Of the lingonberries they sometimes simmered for the Calamitous Potion back at Hogwarts ― strong, and heady, and almost overpowering. Almost unpleasant. _Almost_. 

He wonders if it smells like that to Sirius. Remus knows his own sense of smell is more sensitive than others’, that he picks things up other people wouldn't notice, wouldn't be bothered with. He also knows that Sirius has more canine tendencies than he sometimes lets on, that his Animagus form didn't come out of nothing, and hasn’t left Sirius unaltered either. He looks up at Sirius’s wide eyes, the way his mouth is open as if he’s almost letting the scent in the air settle on his tongue. He’s seen Sirius do that before. 

“Ready?” Sirius says, eyes still trained on the phial as he tilts it slightly. The liquid slips inside, coming almost to rest on the lip of the glass, and Remus licks his own in anticipation. Sirius moves one finger to Remus’s mouth, pressing the tip against the corner of it, then tips the phial. 

One. Two. Three. The drops land on his bottom lip, in an almost perfect row. He moves to smile, to flick his tongue out, but Sirius surprises him by moving his finger along his lip. He smears the potion there, shattering the perfect droplets and gathering them on his fingertip. His cheeks are flushed and eyes unfocused, before he slips his finger into his own mouth. He sighs at the taste of it, moving his knees onto the bed until he’s kneeling astride Remus. Remus wants to move, to grab him, to gather up what’s left of the potion on his tongue, but he doesn't. He holds still, hands still on Sirius's thighs and gasps gently when Sirius sucks on his lower lip. He does it again, pulling back to swipe his tongue over the liquid gathered on Remus’s mouth, and Remus moans. 

“Fuck,” he mumbles against Sirius's lips, feels him lick his mouth one last time before he’s pulling back. 

“Now you,” Sirius mutters, eyes shining as he sticks his tongue out. It takes Remus a moment before he catches on, and does the same, resting his tongue against his lip, his mouth half open. Sirius tilts the phial, and Remus feels three solid drops as they land on his tongue. He pulls it back into his mouth. 

The flavour is stark, and intense. It’s not like anything Remus has ever tasted before, somehow both bitter and sweet at the same time, and hot. He feels the liquid as it slides down his throat, almost burning in the way that fine, strong alcohol does, and he curls his toes a little as he imagines it settling in his stomach, burning a fiery red underneath his skin. 

He wonders how it feels for Sirius, but before he can ask, Sirius is kissing him. His lips are more insistent now, moving in slow but heady brushes against Remus’s and suddenly Remus wishes they’d thought to get undressed before they did this. He moves his hands to cup Sirius’s jeans-clad arse, feels him moan softly and deepen the kiss, and Remus sits back, pulling them more fully onto the bed. It takes a little manoeuvring, Remus walking backwards on his hands and Sirius crawling over him. Their legs bump together as they move, unwilling to break the kiss as Sirius swipes his tongue over Remus’s lips again, chasing the remnants of the bitter-burnt potion. When they finally reach the head of the bed, Remus lays down, Sirius settling over him. His arse is firm, perfect, as it rests over Remus’s growing erection and Sirius groans as Remus shapes his hands around it. Naked, he thinks, as he feels the room getting hotter around them, his hands gripping Sirius’s arse harder. He wishes they were _naked_. 

“When do we know if it's working?” he mumbles and Sirius hums, lips brushing against his once more. 

“Don’t know. When you finally admit you do wanna fuck me?” he whispers.

Remus laughs, softly. The words, “I want to fuck you right now, here,” are out of his mouth before he can even really register he’s saying them. 

“What?” Sirius pulls away, slowly, and Remus kisses his chin, his jaw. 

“I want to fuck you, so badly that sometimes I can’t sleep,” he says against Sirius's skin, the words coming easily and honestly, and, it quickly dawns on him, entirely without any consent from his brain. He lets his head drop back down onto the pillow, slightly stunned. 

“Say that again,” Sirius prompts and Remus swallows, warmth spreading up from his stomach, to his chest, an almost tingling sensation on his lips where the potion sat. 

“I lied before,” he hears himself say, as Sirius leans closer. “When you asked, when I said I don’t do that,” he licks his lips, a worried frown appearing between his brows. “It freaks me out, how much I want you, to be inside you, to pull at you and hold you down and _bite_ and,” Remus shuts his eyes, desperate to shut his mouth too, “so I lied,” he finishes through gritted teeth. “Fucking _hell_ ,” he mutters, blinking his eyes wide. 

Sirius stares down at him incredulously. 

“I think it's working,” he whispers, and Remus nods, then laughs once, shocked. 

“I can’t stop talking, Sirius!” he exclaims in a low hiss, and it's a little excited, a little terrified. It's like he’s talking against his will, the words coming from him and the potion seeming to build inside him, radiating a pulsating warmth that is making his cock thicken, his nipples tight and his teeth on edge. But he also knows that he can't _not_ talk, that the compulsion to confess, to admit, will twist inside him. It’s uncomfortable, and it feels incredible at the same time. 

“Yeah.” Sirius smiles down at him, his eyes glassy and his knees slipping on the bed covers as he spreads them a little wider, then settles more fully over Remus’s lap. “I like it when you talk.” Remus stifles a groan as Sirius rolls his hips, hands resting just above his shoulders. He does it again, his arse grinding against Remus’s cock. 

“That feels so fucking good,” Remus blurts, biting his lip as Sirius works himself back and forth over the length of Remus’s cock. He can see he’s hard, the shape of it tenting the front of his jeans, and Remus smothers a groan when Sirius sits up higher. He cups himself, long fingers curling around the shape of his cock as it presses down the length of his jeans leg. 

“Fuck,” Remus mumbles, staring and Sirius hums, then quickly pulls his leather jacket, then t-shirt off. He runs one hand down his chest, over the ridges of his stomach to the trail of dark hair on his belly. Skin, Remus thinks, moving his hands over Sirius’s sides. So much _skin_. He wants more. 

“I want you naked,” Sirius murmurs suddenly and Remus nods vehemently, sitting up quickly. They both undress quickly, their shirts and jackets off and over their heads, discarded on the floor, before they move to their jeans. “You never get naked enough,” Sirius is saying as Remus gives up on their clothes, Summoning his wand and Vanishing them with a quick word. “Fuck that turns me on,” Sirius gasps, as he feels the slide of Remus’s bare skin against his own. Remus makes a sound of agreement, lying back down and pulling Sirius with him. “I like the way your magic feels,” Sirius says, kissing over the shell of Remus’s ear. 

“How does it feel?”

“Hot,” Sirius blurts, “and strong. It feels like you.” His eyes widen as he speaks. “It turns me on that I can feel it’s you, and can feel something darker too. The wolf.” He opens his mouth, floundering for a second as he tries to stop talking, and can't. “I can feel the wolf there, when you cast, and it tastes like copper in the air, and I fucking love it.” He looks at the wall and then back, mouth working as if he’s unsure whether he’s done talking or not. He stares down at Remus almost apologetically. “Fuck,” he mumbles, dropping his head slightly as he laughs. “This is… _weird_ ,” he says emphatically. Remus can’t help but agree, but he’s also reeling from the news that Sirius can feel his magic so acutely, and can feel the wolf bleeding into it, too. He’s never been that sensitive to sensing magic himself, perhaps because he didn't grow up around it, or perhaps because his other senses are so heightened by his furry little problem. Either way, the idea of Sirius enjoying how it feels sends a thrill of excitement through him. 

“Is that why you taste the air like that?” Remus asks, before he knows he’s doing it. Sirius nods. 

“I like to taste things, yeah.” His voice is lower now, his arms shaking a little as he moves his hips. His cock is hot and long as it presses against Remus’s belly, next to his own, and when Sirius moves again, the jolt of pleasure is sudden, and perfect. “I like to taste the scents in the air,” Sirius says, rocking back and forth, and staring at Remus’s neck. 

His hair is just long enough to tickle at Remus’s cheek, and Remus suddenly wants to bury his face in it, to breath his scent in. He turns his face to the side, moves his hands back to Sirius’s arse. He just rests them there, flexing his fingers slightly, but the desire is building, the urge to flip them over maddening. He wants Sirius, wants to be inside him, and he whimpers slightly as he bites his lower lip, his cock twitching as the need to _act_ on what he wants builds. 

“I like your scent,” Sirius breathes, moving his face lower and brushing their cocks together more insistently. “I love it. The way it tastes, the way it feels,” he adds, a flush of heat spreading over his pale chest, up to the wing of his collarbone. “I want it on me, all the time. _Fuck_ ,” Sirius drops his head again, curving his back and pushing his arse back into Remus’s hands. “Fuck, this is gonna get embarrassing, from here, I know it. Fuck.” He’s almost whispering, his mouth open as he gasps. Their cocks move together, the slide of it perfect and maddening and _not enough_. Remus feels his lips curl as he pushes his head back into the pillow underneath him. 

“Tell me,” Remus rumbles, bringing his feet up to rest against the bed, the feel of the soft cover caressing his toes as he clenches them. “God, I want to fuck you so bad.” He shuts his eyes, lets the wave of heat pass over him as Sirius groans. “Tell me what you want, Sirius. Talk to me,” he says emphatically, feeling the head of his cock leaking against his own belly. Impulsively, he runs the tips of his fingers over it, smearing the precome over them and hissing at the sensation before moving his slick fingers to Sirius’s cock. He runs them down it, smoothing his own precome down the length of Sirius’s erection and Sirius’s arms wobble, his thighs spreading wider. 

“Fuck!” Sirius gasps, “yes, that,” he falls forwards on his elbows, cheek hot against Remus’s and trapping Remus’s hand between their overheated bellies, their aching cocks. 

“Yes?” 

“Yes, yes,” Sirius repeats. “That, your scent, _on_ me,” he repeats, and little shaky. “Fuck I want, I want you to,” he takes a steadying breath as Remus clenches and then releases the fingers on his arse. “I want you to mark me,” he says, his voice high and thin, ending on a gasp. 

“Mark you?” Remus tightens his fingers again, freeing his other hand and running his fingers over Sirius’s back. “Mark you how? With…” He searches for the word. “With my come?” he asks and he feels the embarrassment build in him. He swallows, his face burning, once from saying it, and again from the how much he _wants_ to do it. 

“Yes,” Sirius grinds out. 

“I’d do it,” Remus can't stop himself from saying, “holy fuck, I want to. I want to come on you, your chest, your neck, your ―” he laughs dizzily as he shakes his head. “Christ, the things I’m saying,” he mumbles, drunk with how freeing it feels, how liberating, to not hold back, to not be _able_ to. He thinks this is why he’s always liked getting high ― the lack of responsibility that comes with it, the loosening of the tight leash he keeps himself on, being able to let himself, for a brief moment, simply go along with it. 

“Yes, god.” Sirius kisses his cheek, and it's hot, messy, teeth scraping over his skin. “I want you to come on me, _mark_ me. Come on me… and _more_ ,” he finishes, his voice getting softer and softer, more desperate, and Remus frowns. 

“More?” he whispers, something stirring inside him. The potion is roiling in his stomach, burning him up in sensational waves, and his heels are skidding over the soft fur of the covers, and he thinks he knows what Sirius means, but surely he can't. Surely. Not _that_. “More?” he repeats again, desperate to know. Sirius makes a muffled sound. 

“I don’t know why, I don't know ―” 

“Sirius?” Remus asks frantically. “What’s more?”

Sirius groans. 

“I want you to...mark me,” he says again, grinding his hips against Remus, “oh god, like territory,” he whispers, hot against his ear. “Mark me like I'm your _territory_.”

“Y ― you… Oh, fuck,” Remus stammers as Sirius’s meaning fully hits him, hard and heavy. Remus is no idiot, has spent more than half his life sharing his body and his consciousness with an animal, letting it take the reins of this corporeal timeshare of theirs every full moon. He knows what it's like, to come across another wolf’s scent, to inhale that heady aroma and feel it settle on his tongue. 

He knows how a wolf would mark something as it it's own, as _belonging_ to it, and he knows exactly, instantly, why Sirius, with the reckless, needy and loyal heart of a dog he has, would want that ― even if Sirius doesn't completely understand it himself. 

“You want me to piss on you.” The words are out of his mouth in a coarse whisper, his cock jumping against his stomach. He isn't sure if he’s more turned on by the thrill of saying something so shocking out loud, or by the idea of doing it, and he feels Sirius shudder against him. 

“I know, it’s fucked, how much I want it, it’s fucked,” Sirius whispers, in an embarrassed tumble. “I don’t know why I want that, why I want it so bad, but I do, I fucking _do_ ,”. His hands are tight on Remus’s shoulders, feverish as his nails bite into his skin. “I want you on me, your scent. I want to be yours, so people know I'm yours.” He laughs, a little incredulous, his voice still that burning whisper. “They won't even be able to tell, it makes no _sense_ , but I would. I’d know. I’d know I was in my _place_ ,” he grinds out. 

“Your place,” Remus repeats, breathing hard. He can barely think around the fog of arousal in his mind, the heat in his legs. “Oh, fuck, _yes_.” 

“Yes?” 

“Yes, god.” Remus shuts his eyes on the rush of heat up his legs, his shoulders pressing into the mattress beneath. “Yes, I want that,” he grips Sirius’s sides, quickly and impulsively flipping them over. Sirius lands on his back, surprise etched across his face, over his red and blotchy cheeks. Remus groans, kissing over them feverishly, feeling the heat of Sirius’s embarrassment as he settles between his parted legs, rubbing his cock back and forth over Sirius’s hip. He licks at Sirius's jaw again. “I’ll do that. Mark you ―” 

“ _Fuck_.” 

“Next time?” Remus kisses down Sirius's neck, nipping lightly at it. He wants to sink his teeth in, and his fingers tighten over Sirius’s ribs. “Next time, next time Sirius, we’ll do that. I'll act like I don't want it, but I won't be able to stop thinking about this until it happens.”

“God, _yes_.” Sirius lifts his hips off the bed rolling his groin against Remus’s, hard enough to almost be painful. “I want it so much.” 

“I’ll do it.” Remus sits back, pushes his hair away from his face. “I want it. Fuck, it’ll be so messy.” He grins, laughing stupidly. “I don’t know how we would do it, but I want to, I want to own you.” Remus runs his hands over his face, sitting back on his heels. They dig into his arse, his cock jutting away from him, angry and red, from his body, and he presses his fingers to his mouth, shakes his head as he looks down at Sirius. “The things I'm saying,” he moves one hand to his cock, stroking it as he stares down the length of Sirius’s body. 

“I like it,” Sirius says, low and desperate. “I want you to c ― come on me. God, listen to me,” Sirius huffs a wet sounding laugh, “Nothing you’ve said is even _close_ to as bad as what I just said I wanted. I want you to come on me,” he repeats in a rush, as if unable to stop saying it. Remus kisses down his chest, runs his lips and then his tongue over one nipple, down to the side of his ribs, while running his other hand through the hair on Sirius’s belly then down to the coarser hair between his legs. He pulls it lightly, feels Sirius shudder then take a steadying breath, and Remus does the same. He can feel the blood thump in his ears, in his veins. His chest feels like it’s burning, his cock throbbing. He feels almost delirious with it, aroused and giddy. It feels amazing. He’s never wanted someone as much as he wants Sirius right now. Or maybe he’s just never let himself acknowledge how much he wants him. It’s enough to overwhelm him, and with each breath and dizzy drag of his lips over Sirius’s overheated skin, he lets it. 

“I want to be inside you,” he mutters shakily against Sirius’s collarbone, ending on a groan when Sirius quickly flips over onto his stomach. He slides one hand under his pillow, pulls something out and then slides the pillow underneath his hips. He groans as his leaking cock rubs against it. 

“Lube,” Sirius says perfunctorily, handing the tube over his shoulder. “Use sparingly, minimal prep.” He groans, rubbing his cheek against the blanket and Remus takes the tube from him. “I want to be able to feel it. You. I don’t want it to hurt, but I don’t want you to be gentle. I want to be able to _feel_ it. “

“Jesus.” Remus runs the backs of his knuckles down Sirius’s spine. “You’ve done this before.”

“Yes.” Sirius rolls his hips, lifting his arse up slightly. 

“Tell me you haven't,” Remus growls suddenly, surprising himself. The rush of jealousy, of anger, surprises him too, as he rakes his nails over Sirius's hip. “Tell me no one’s fucked you before,” he blurts, leaning down to bite at the top of Sirius’s arse. He does it again, harder. 

“Fuck, Moony.” Sirius shivers as Remus licks over the base of his spine, kisses the dimples just above his arse. “No one’s ever fucked me before. Not like this.” 

“Yes,” Remus groans, flipping the cap open on the lube. He coats his fingers liberally, then remembers what Sirius said; he absently wipes the excess off on his thigh, staining the blanket. He doesn’t care. He can’t stop staring at the curve of Sirius’s smooth back, the puckered flesh between his cheeks. “I don’t want anyone else to have done this to you,” he says in a low rush. 

“They haven’t,” Sirius lies, easily slipping into the game. “Not like this,” he repeats, as Remus runs the tip of his index finger over his hole, groans as Sirius pushes back and it slip inside him. He wonders if the potion is stopping Sirius from being able to outright lie, but he doesn’t really care, he thinks, as he pushes his finger in deeper. He adds another, pushes them both in to the second knuckle, then leans down to bite at the junction of Sirius’s shoulder and neck. 

“I don’t want anyone else to do this to you, only me,” Remus moves his hand faster to distract from the mortifying admission. “Just me.” He bites his own lip, _hard_ , willing himself to shut up. 

“They won't,” Sirius arches his back, forcing Remus’s fingers in deeper. He keens when Remus abruptly removes them, trying to grab his hand, to pull his fingers back inside him. Remus grabs his wrist and pins it to the bed beside his head. 

“Stay down,” he snarls, the heel of his other hand hard as he pushes it into Sirius’s back, into the dip between his shoulder blades. 

“Fuck,” Sirius gasps and twists, his voice a low whine. “ _Fuck_.” 

“Sorry,” Remus grits out desperately, even as he rakes his nails down Sirius’s sides. “I'm sorry, tell me to stop if you, if I’m too, please tell me ―” 

“No,” Sirius gasps, arching his spine, his arms stretched out before him. “Don't stop.” 

“Sirius, please tell me ―” 

“Don't _stop_ ,” Sirius moans again, pulling one knee up higher. “For fuck’s sake, I’ve been waiting for this for fi― _mmfph_.” The rest is cut off as Sirius buries his face into the pillow, biting down on it hard, and biting the rest of his sentence into it too. Remus blinks, wondering exactly how long Sirius has been waiting that he’s now desperate not to say it out loud, before he shakes the thought out of his head. He decides it’s only fair that Sirius be allowed to keep some secrets, as he runs his slick palm over his cock, feels it jump under the touch. He’s so hard it aches, the head of his cock wet and leaking. He presses his thumb against it just this side of too hard as he lines himself up with Sirius’s hole. 

“Are you ―”

“Ready,” Sirius pants, cutting him off. “I’m ready, I’m so ready, please just ― _ahh_!” 

Remus groans as he pushes inside, feels Sirius hiss as his passage contracts around the head of Remus’s cock. He moves his hand to Sirius’s arse cheek, keeping his forearm across his lower back, keeping him pressed against the mattress. He slowly pushes inside, listening to the whine and rasp of Sirius’s breathing until he’s fully sheathed himself inside him. Remus feels his lip curl in a snarl of pleasure as he rocks his hips, once. Sirius gasps. 

“Tell me you like it,” Remus rasps, pulling out and then sliding back in, slowly but relentlessly

“F ― fuck.”

“Tell me.”

“Yes!” Sirius pushes back, the bones of his wrist grinding in Remus’s hand as it’s still pinned by his head. “Yes, fuck I like, I want, _more_ ,” he pants, trying to lift his hips, but Remus only presses down harder with his forearm, kneading at Sirius’s arse cheek with his fingers. “Fuck me,” Sirius begs, moaning low and wanton as Remus begins to move faster. “Yes, like that ― _uh_ ― fuck, and the come on m ― _god_ ,” Sirius breaks off on a low moan, then laughs shakily. “Sorry, I can’t stop saying it, asking for it,” he mumbles roughly against the pillow. Remus pulls out again, then thrusts down, feeling the burn in his thighs, his arse, his lower back. He moves his hips faster. 

“I like hearing you say that,” Remus whispers hoarsely, almost at the exact time as he thinks it. “I’ve never heard you talk this much before.” He runs his teeth over Sirius's shoulder, tightening his fingers around his wrist. He feels Sirius contract around him again, canting his hips and arching his back to take Remus in deeper. Remus wants to shut his eyes, to lose himself in it and just _feel_ , but he forces them to stay open; he wants to see Sirius more. 

“I want you to come,” he rumbles against Sirius’s skin, feeling the sweat prickle at the nape of his neck, over his shoulders. His skin feels like it’s covered in overheated goosebumps, cold shivers following each hot, pulsating wave of arousal through him. “I want to make you come.” he pistons his hips faster, blinking the damp tendrils of his fringe out of his eyes. “I want to feel it when it happens, hear you, smell you, _fuck_ ,” he curses, the words bubbling out him in dizzying, embarrassing rushes. “I want to hold you down until I make you scream, and then do it again, and again, and ―”

“ _God_ , Remus ―”

“ ― I want to bite, fuck Sirius, I want to bite you, _mark_ you,” Remus licks over Sirius’s shoulder, mouths at the base of his neck. His voice is a low and desperate rumble as he talks. The room echoes with the slap of his hips, the high and loud keen of Sirius’s, and Remus feels his balls tighten as they draw up close to his body, the hair on his thighs prickling and heat pooling at the base of his spine. His cock _throbs_. 

“Sirius, I’m,” He licks his lips, his voice cracking. “I’m gonna ―”

“― _On_ me,” Sirius bucks up frantically, “Come on ― on me, Remus, _please_ ,” he stammers, and Remus fucks into him one last time before pulling out entirely. He releases Sirius’s wrist, then wraps his fingers around his cock, pumps his fist around his aching length. Sirius writhes beneath him mumbling incomprehensible platitudes into the pillow beneath them, and then shouting, hoarse and sharp when Remus slips two fingers back inside him. It’s slick, easy, Sirius taking them in with almost no resistance and Remus moves them in time with the hand on his cock, feeling the rush of his orgasm thrum in his veins, pound in his ears. 

“Fuck,” he snarls as Sirius draws his legs up underneath him, his fist moving between his legs. “Yes, fuck Sirius, touch yourself.” The movement of Remus’s hands turns erratic as he watches Sirius’s arm move, “I want you to co ― _oh_ ― oh, _fuck_.” 

Remus’s mouth falls open, Sirius’s high-pitched keen barely audible over the rush of his heart beat in his ears. He rises up on his knees, thighs straining as his cock pulses, a thick and pearly white strand of semen landing over Sirius’s arse, the small of his back. Again, Remus shoots over his fist, Sirius stilling and them clamping down hard around Remus’s fingers and Remus grunts, low and overwhelmed as he feels Sirius come. The air fills with his scent, deep, familiar, and Remus sways forward, stomach muscles straining as his forehead hits Sirius’s shoulder; he doesn’t have the coordination, the ability to move his hands, in time to stop his fall. He rubs his cheek over Sirius's shoulder blade, to his neck, feeling blindly with his face until his lips meet the hot, soft skin of Sirius's neck. Mindlessly, he licks at it, before he bites down, _hard_. 

“Yea ― _uh_!” Sirius gasps, jerks, his face twisted into an ecstatic smile as he wrings the last of his orgasm out, his pulse fluttering against Remus's tongue, underneath his teeth. 

Sirius’s hair tickles at his cheek, soft against his jaw. His heart beats a frantic, happy rhythm against his chest, loud enough that he thinks Sirius must be able to hear it. Or maybe it’s him who can hear Sirius. Reluctantly, he pulls his mouth away, pries his eyes open. He exhales roughly, thick and dizzy as his hand slides over his slick cock, that last of his orgasm emptying out over Sirius’s skin. 

“Fuck,” he gasps, releasing his cock and then pulling his fingers away from Sirius’s contracting hole. He smoothes his hand down Sirius’s side when he hisses, gasps down another breath. “Sirius...” Remus groans when he sees the red, bruising teeth marks. “Sorry, _shit_. I bit you, I,” he swallows thickly. “I hurt you?”

“Yeah. No. Not hurt.” Sirius nods, forehead rubbing against the pillow, then shakes his head as if to clear it. “Fuck. Why did that feel so good?” he laughs, then breathes out again.

“Not hurt?” Remus repeats, a slow mumble. Sirius’s hair brushes his face as he shakes it again.

“No,” he says emphatically, his voice only a little shaky now. “Wanted it.” He wipes his hand on the cover beneath them before he bucks back, tipping them both on their side. “Told you I wanted it, too. Gotta trust me more, don’t you? Fuck,” Sirius puffs his cheeks out. “Fuck, you’re all over me.” He grins euphorically. 

Remus starts, groaning slightly as Sirius wipes the last of the mess on his hand on Remus’s thigh, in smooth deliberate strokes. He laughs again, giddy and stupid. 

“Sirius, let me. My wand. There’s mess ―”

“Leave it,” Sirius mumbles, pressing his back against Remus’s chest, and closing his eyes. “Deal with it tomorrow.”

“Sirius ―”

“And you’re fucking staying here tonight,” Sirius growls breathlessly, his limbs heavy and tired as he nonetheless, reaches back and grabs Remus’s arm, pulls it around his waist. Remus feels boneless as he sags against the mattress, laughing again. He wasn’t going to leave, and he’s not sure if he’d even be able, given his legs have turned to jelly, his spine has melted. Still, he can’t blame Sirius for thinking he’s about to; it’s not like he usually stays, like they usually do this. His chest aches a little as he thinks of it, and he shifts closer. 

“‘M not going anywhere,” he slurs, the words turning into a yawn as Sirius hums. 

Remus has just enough presence of mind to pull the furred cover over them both before his mind wipes clean and he falls into a heavy and sudden sleep.

~*~

It's hours later, yet still dark, when he wakes again, from a feverish and overheated doze. He’s sluggish, drowsy, and has a mouthful of Sirius’s long and tangled hair, which he brushes away from his face. It catches on the stubble of his jaw, and he brushes it aside again. The movement exposes the nape of Sirius’s neck, and impulsively Remus kisses it. The intimacy of it floors him, and he does it again when Sirius stirs, then turns around to rest his cheek against Remus’s shoulder.

“Hey,” Remus mumbles thickly, feeling his face and chest heat as he remembers the things he said, offered ― the things Sirius asked him for in return. He tenses. Sirius moves closer, his hand on Remus’s sternum. 

“Don’ be weird,” Sirius says, his own voice still thick with sleep. 

“Weird?” 

“Yeah. Overthinky. Embarrassed,” Sirius moves one leg over Remus’s hip, his warm, flaccid cock pressing against his thigh. “It’ll make me embarrassed.”

Remus swallows thickly, turning his head. He rests his cheek against Sirius’s head. 

“You don’t need to be embarrassed,” he says, after another moment. 

“I possibly do.”

“No,” Remus insists, more forcefully this time. “No, I’d say that was unexpected, and...somewhat enlightening,” Sirius snorts, and Remus chews his lower lip, “But also fucking brilliant.”

Sirius stills, then move closer, his jaw clicking slightly as he yawn. His breath is warm against Remus’s skin. “All my ideas are brilliant.”

Remus snorts this time, lifting his arm over his head, and letting it rest on the pillow. “At least forty percent of them are absolutely not.”

“Thirty.”

“Sixty.” Remus stretches his fingers out, feels them brush against the exposed concrete of Sirius’s sparse flat’s wall. “Don’t make me start listing examples.”

“Fine,” Sirius replies. He doesn’t speak again for long enough for Remus to think he’s fallen back asleep, until Sirius runs his hand down to Remus’s stomach. He needs a shower, he thinks, and they both need a solid cleaning charm. He can’t be bothered Summoning his wand, though, and he doesn’t want to clean away the remnants of what they did. Not just yet. 

“Hey, Padfoot?” he says, reaching down to lift up a piece of Sirius's hair that has fallen over his chest. 

“Mm?”

“Happy twenty-first,” Remus mumbles into Sirius's hair, and feels him laugh against his throat. 

“‘M old now, aren’t I?”

“Oi.” Remus pinches the back of Sirius’s arm. “I’m twenty-one.”

“Yeah. We’re old,” Sirius amends, turning his face up slightly. His nose bumps against Remus’s throat, and Remus sighs as Sirius kisses his Adam’s apple. 

“Mmm.” Remus hums. Sirius shifts as Remus tucks his tangled hair behind one ear, runs his fingers over his cheekbone. 

“What do you wanna do next year?” Remus whispers, and Sirius laughs again. The sound is soft, tired, impossibly fond, and Remus impulsively tightens his arms around him his cheeks flushing. He’d like to blame that on the potion, but the heat in his stomach is all but gone, and he can tell it’s nearly morning. The potion would have stopped working by now, and even still, he knows it can’t make him feel anything that’s not already there. It’s frightening, and at the same time, it’s not that bad at all. 

“Wan’ a second motorbike helmet,” Sirius mutters, his lips brushing Remus’s neck. “For you,” he clarifies quickly, the smile loud in his voice. “So you can finally come for a ride with me.”

Remus shakes his head, swallowing thickly. _Fat chance_ , he wants to say. _There’s no way I’m going for a ride on that flying death trap of yours_. But he’s warm and happy, more comfortable than he’s been in weeks, and there’s a war looming just out of their sight, creeping closer with every passing day. He smiles, feeling reckless and young, the way Sirius always makes him feel. He might as well go for a ride on Sirius’s bloody bike. 

“Yeah.” Remus gives in to temptation and runs his fingers through Sirius’s hair again. He shuts his eyes against the faint purpling of the sky, heralding dawn’s approach. 

“We can do whatever you want, Sirius.”

~*~

**Author's Note:**

> say hello to me on [tumblr](https://shiftylinguini.tumblr.com/) if you like xxx


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